I Fell Out of Love with Hunter S. Thompson

[agent_527]

He caught me one afternoon with
my hands full of rosaries
and the color back in my cheeks.
I did or didn't blush.

How's it going

to make difference if you drink yourself to death?
There are plenty of writers
thinly veiled in plaid button-down shirts
for me to review.
But all of them know
I'm a woman of moderate conviction.
I know the devil by taste
and hold my tongue.

I've already gotten off.
He wanted to drive a silver stake in me
but I'd rather live forever.
I'd rather not be forgotten.
I'd rather leave you now, Mr. Thompson,
while there's still an audience.